I’m currently in the same room.
I feel the deep rumble of your sex-induced coma
I hear the cry of springs cringing to contain you
I can smell the faint salt of the cold sweat kept at bay by my blankets.
I can’t sleep when you’re not here, and I definitely can’t sleep when you are here.
When you are here promising sweet delights with the soft brush of your lips.
Your lips curled into contortion during the grand finale.
Your grand finale.
Someday you will repay me.
But like anyone in debt, someday you will claim bankruptcy and I will leave.
I will leave with a scene as emotional as your banker.
I wish books and things were still published with this kind of detailed decor.
I would so decorate my house like this. Somehow I doubt I’ll get approval from the folks I live with.